Tojours Pur
by La Mariannette
Summary: Even the sunniest of afternoon lakeside conversations carry the shadows of foresight. Perhaps because the sun illuminates the weeds already taking root... Particular moments, sisters in italics, radical ideologies and the second wave of feminism.


A/N - Not mine. I'm allowed to wish it was though, right?

* * *

'_So_. I hear a one Malfoy in interested in one of the Black sisters.'

Looking up, she grinned and stretched back. 'You ought tell Lucius that he hasn't got a shot at Andromeda. She thinks long hair looks effeminate on men, particularly blonds.'

Snorting, the standing figure dropping from the shadows onto the grass. '_Effeminate_. What does that even _mean_, Cissy? Honestly, the state of affairs that even purebloods - as liberal as Drommie may be - use such muggle-isms? _Effeminate_. As though there's a bloody _difference_ between men and women.'

'Oh, Trixie,' she sighed, smiling as she shook her head. 'Don't discount _all_ the muggle-isms. I did so love the mental image of Dolohov and Nott in muggle women's clothes. Particularly those heels.'

'Is _particularly_ the word of the day or something, Narcissa? I concede your point, though I don't know _why_ muggle women would ever tolerate such discomfort just to be debased as a sexual object!'

'You'd be a feminist radical in their world, Trixie. I overheard Tonks blathering on about it; the _second wave of feminism_, he called it.'

Bellatrix Black made a face, leaning back from her sister as though her words were actually repulsive. 'I don't understand _why_ Drommie insists on making nice with the would-be-muggles. They're just so _disrespectful_.'

'Because you're ever so _very_ much more tolerant and aware of muggle culture and customs.'

Sticking her tongue out at her sister, Bellatrix grinned in that particular way she did, the one that made Narcissa think that one day, maybe, her sister could turn into something she wouldn't recognise. 'Well, we _are_ their superiors.'

'Drommie would tell you that we're not. Except by our standards. And that the first generation consider the muggle world equal, but different.'

'_The first generation_,' Bellatrix scoffed, rolling her eyes. 'How can the muggle world be in any way, shape or form equal to ours? We're not perfect, granted, but we're not so _dammed_ petty! I mean really, how can any self-respecting human - even the ones more _slime_ than man - be _proud_ of a culture that even _after_ all their accomplishments and innovations still deems people hierarchical based on _gender_ and _race_ and _place of birth_. Honestly, Cissy, look at Dolohov! Does he go around parading his roots? Or do we go around insulting him? Or, oh, that other first year! Jordan or Johnson or something, was it? _Merlin_, that's what a muggle-born _should_ feel coming into this world! The awe and respect and astonishment that _this_ is what civilisation ought to look like. That a black or a Russian or an Arab - male _or_ female - can come in and get what their capacity dictates they _deserve_.'

'You're a Slytherin, darling, of course you love the bureaucracy. But not everyone's a Slytherin, or our world would be perfect. It's not a bureaucracy and - whether by our own doing or by muggle influence, I honestly can't say - it's becoming more and more muggle. It's who you know and who your family is that's beginning to take over.'

'You don't sound upset. Andromeda'd be furious about it, you know.'

Narcissa smiled knowingly, looking out the corner of her eye at Bellatrix's cat-like stance. Her darling sister was _always_ ready to pounce (it's only ever fitting to describe Bellatrix with italics, after all, she _embodies_ the passion of them. Bellatrix lives in italics.) 'I think you might have been an Italian in a past life. You talk like that Zabini bloke who was at dinner over the holidays. All italics and passion, Trixie. Anyway, Drommie's an idealist. Her inner Ravenclaw loves the idea of a system where everyone at the top is the best.'

'_Inner_ Ravenclaw? She _is_ a Ravenclaw, Cissy. You're talking about her inner Hufflepuff that wants everyone to have flowers and butterflies and roses.'

'Roses are flowers, Bellatrix,' Narcissa wrinkled her nose, 'and we're not going about tossing my namesake's about at people. That's just rude. Though I can't say I would ever say no to a functional world.'

'If Lucius continues his interest in you, you might end up part of the dysfunctionality.'

'_If_ I decide to keep him around, he can do as he likes. I, for one, am going to do research.'

Bellatrix's face lit up and she peered into her sister's fair features. 'Oh, goodness, Cissy, you're going to be the mother of the next generation of Malfoys! Goodness, with _their_ library and access to resources, you'd never leave. Just make the next generation of Malfoys better than the current. _Please_.'

Narcissa laughed this time, loud and clear and happy, 'Oh, be nice! Lucius isn't so bad. Poncey, yes, but he's not like that to me.'

'Because he knows you'll shoot him down in a heartbeat if he ever were to take that attitude with you. For all of Drommie's loud-mouthed idealism and my _passion_, and don't you dare ever tell me I sound like that Zabini twat _ever_ again! I think you might the strongest of us. You'll out-last us all.'

Looking up sharply, echoes of what would come pulsated from the small bubble of the still-beautiful Black world. Lowering her eyes as she wished fervently that Bellatrix hadn't said such a thing, Narcissa's voice was soft, 'We'll see.'

* * *

Something about the Black sisters as disjointed and dysfunctional didn't quite sit right. But _this_, confusion and misunderstandings and presuppositions and paths-taken, makes them feel real. I've deliberately given no ages or years and ranks and whatnot. Hope you enjoy!


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